Children of the Barricade
by angelinexo
Summary: When the barricade fell, the world did not only lose revolutionaries. People lost ones that they loved, and their worlds will never be the same. A set of one-shots about the loved ones the revolutionaries left behind. LATEST UPDATE: THE CHIEF (Previously, The Drunkard and the Thernadiers)
1. The Drunkard

**Children of the Barricade  
**_Did you see them, lying where they died?  
__Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when they cried.__  
_

When the barricade fell, the world did not only lose revolutionaries. People lost ones that they loved, and their worlds will never be the same. A set of one-shots about the loved ones the revolutionaries left behind.

* * *

**The Drunkard (Word Count: 769)**

Her father was the one who told her. He told her one morning in a clipped tone that the drunkard who lived on the second floor had been foolish enough to participate in the failed revolution at the barricade. He told her to clean up his things and box them up for the boy's mother and clear up the space for a new tenant. Her father was always about the business.

She made her way towards his flat with shaky hands and wobbly knees. Her father had no idea of knowing that the tenant's death would cause her so much turmoil. After all, he probably would have killed her if he knew of her nightly visits to take care of the drunkard.

The first time she made her way down this hallway, was almost a year prior. She had been up late to finish a particularly difficult crocheting piece for her sister's newest child when she heard someone stumbling about in the floor above her. There she had met Monsieur Grantaire fumbling for his keys. She helped him get in and put him to bed. After that, it became a normal occurrence for them.

She entered his room and saw that it was just as messy as it usually was. If Monsieur Grantaire had known he was going to die, he hadn't made any efforts to make it easier to clean up after him.

She tried her hardest to not think of the curly hair man she had grown fond of as she gathered and stacked his schoolbooks near entrance of the room. She focused on the book titles instead and was mildly surprised to see that they were mostly books on philosophy, or history books. She had never pegged Monsieur Grantaire to be the philosophical type. Honestly, she didn't imagine he was an academic type at all.

As she moved to the bed to strip the sheets, she was hit with the last memory she had of him.

"_What would I do without you, ma cherie?" he slurred as she pulled the covers over him. She pushed back his curly hair and wiped his face with a washcloth before replying._

"_Probably choke on your own vomit and die," she told him bluntly._

"_Good thing you are here then, for I would rather hope I die a more valiant death than in bed covered in my own vomit," he remarked, closing his eyes and smiling slightly. _

"_You are a beautiful soul, and it is a shame that you only see me like this," he continued to ramble. "If you knew me in the daylight, you might have even fallen in love with me."_

After that, he had fallen asleep and she had snuck out of his room, as was their routine.

Monsieur Grantaire had often flirted with her, and at first she was flustered and flattered. The more time she spent with him, the more comfortable he became and babbled on about things going on in his life.

Nothing was ever explicitly stated, but she could tell that he cared deeply about someone, but that that person did not feel the same about him. In fact, she had a hunch that these unreturned feelings were a large part of why he came home drunk every night in the first place.

After the mattress was stripped, she shook her head to dispel her mind of a man that she would never see again. She went back to emptying bookshelves, clearing his desk, and emptying his closet. Her father would become angry if she took too long to do such a simple task.

As soon as everything was finished, she looked around the empty room with sadness. Her throat constricted and she felt a few tears slip down her face.

She was about to leave when she spotted the corner of an envelope sticking out from the crevice of the desk. Confused, she cautiously pulled at it and was surprised to see her name scrawled across the front of it. She eagerly ripped it open.

_Ma cherie,_

_I am sorry to leave you so abruptly, but at least you will no longer have to take care of my drunken self, as handsome as I am._

_I have treasured your presence in my life. I truly would not have survived without you._

_Stay beautiful._

_-R_

With fresh tears in her eyes, she realized that Monsieur Grantaire was wrong that last night she was with him. She didn't need the daylight. She had fallen in love with his damaged soul in their secret moments at night, and she had realized it too late.


	2. The Thernadiers

**Children of the Barricade  
**_Did you see them, lying where they died?  
__Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when they cried._

**The Thernadiers (Word Count: 714)**

Azelma had always been a quiet, reserved child. She never questioned or spoke back badly to her parents. She was passive. She was everything her brother and sister were not.

But her siblings' deaths stirred something in her that she had never felt before. It was an ache in her heart and weight in her gut. It was not something she could ignore.

And so one early morning, before her father woke, she pulled her shawl around her shoulders and walked the streets, letting her mind wander.

Éponine had been her big sister, her best friend, her role model. 'Ponine, as she called her, was brave and emotional and independent. She had detested the life that her family lived, but loved them too much to leave them completely. She was everything Azelma had wanted to be. 'Ponine looked out for her, taking her beatings from their father when Azelma could not come up with enough money to make their father happy. She was her savior.

Gavroche was very much like 'Ponine. Independent, loud, and brave. Even though he had left their family years before, Azelma remembered him fondly as a toddler. She remembered she and 'Ponine caring for him and sometimes playing with him in front of the inn, before things got bad. After he left, she often times saw him roaming the streets with his friends. He had looked happy, and though she would never admit it, she was jealous.

But in just one night, they were both gone. Just like that.

Oh how she wished 'Ponine had just listened to her!

"'_Ponine, why are you dressed like that?" she questioned her sister. She wore men's clothing and her hair was hidden in a cap._

"_I have to go to the barricade," she told her desperately. She looked over Azelma's shoulder to make sure their father wasn't around. She quickly grabbed Azelma in a tight squeeze._

"_I love you, 'Zel," she whispered into her ear. "Please be safe and stay strong." _

_Azelma grabbed 'Ponine's wrist to stop her. "No! Wait! 'Ponine you can't go there! You'll die for sure! It's a fool's battle."_

"_But Monsieur Marius will be there. If he dies, then I shall die too. I cannot live in a world where he does not live as well," she explained tearfully._

"_But what about me, 'Ponine?" Azelma asked tearfully. Though she was fifteen years old, her voice made her sound as if she were five. "You're going to leave me here with Papa?" 'Ponine frowned slightly._

"_You have always been stronger than you believe you are," 'Ponine told her little sister firmly. "Please remember that. I love you."_

_And before Azelma could say anything, Éponine and twisted out of her grasp and left._

Azelma stopped as she realized that her feet had brought her to the Café Musain, where Éponine had spent much time fawning over M'sieur Marius, where Gavroche had followed and worshipped the boys. She placed a hand on the cold stony wall and smiled sadly.

She then dropped to her knees and started sobbing.

Her little brother would never be able to grow up. She didn't even know where her youngest two brothers were, or if they were even still alive.

'Ponine would never find the love that she deserved to have. She would never get to leave the wretched world they lived in and become the proper beautiful lady Azelma knew she could have been. _They_ could have been, if they had been only been born into better circumstances.

They were all gone, and she was left with their corrupt, violent father.

He was the only family she had left now.

When her heart felt empty and tears could no longer come, she weakly stood back up and headed home.

When she arrived to their hovel they called a home, she could hear her father stirring. She briefly wondered if she could leave, the way Gavroche did. Just leave her father and start a new life, the way 'Ponine wanted. She could make up for everything that her siblings had lost and would never get back.

But then she shook her head dejectedly and went to fix her papa breakfast.

_I'm sorry, 'Ponine,_ she thought sadly, _but I am not as strong as you thought I am._


	3. The Chief

**Children of the Barricade**

_Did you see them, lying where they died?_

_Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when they cried._

* * *

**The Chief (Word count: 668)**

With a stony face and a hardened heart, he approached the man, the leader of this rebellion, as he laid hanging out of the window, his blonde hair blowing in the breeze, the damned red flag still in his hand.

He had killed this traitor to his country. He had done his duty. He should feel glad. Accomplished. Proud.

But his heart felt different.

Enjolras. The leader in red.

But he had known him more personally as Antoine. As the boy who lived down the street. As the boy who was both his best friend, and his greatest nemesis.

Their fathers had been businessmen together, their mothers friends. He was only a few months older than Antoine, and had known each other since the blonde boy was born.

Their lives had started off very similarly. Born into rich families, doting mothers, and busy fathers. Both only children. They went to primary school together. Despite their opposite features of light and dark hair, they had been inseparable and often confused for twins.

As he looked out the window at childhood friend, it almost seemed as if the wrinkles disappeared from Antoine's face and reversed in time to be that child he grew up with once more.

He had to turn away to fight the feeling of bile creeping up his throat.

The man he had killed was no longer his friend, his brother. He was a rebel. A traitor. And he had to pay for his transgressions.

They had remained friends until secondary school. While he had reveled in the socialite circle and impressing ladies, Antoine retreated to the library to his precious books and essays.

Antoine never had to try to get the girls to notice him. They simply flocked to him and his angelic looks while he slaved away in the library oblivious to the attention.

He, on the other hand, had to work hard to get a girl to look at him twice.

Antoine had everything come easy to him, yet didn't want it.

He resented him for it.

When Antoine left for the University, and he for training to join the National Guard, their friendship that had already been fraying with time, broke completely. He had heard of Antoine's revolutionary ideas and knew that from then on, they were on opposite sides of the impending war.

He walked away from the window and looked down at the other men, lying dead on the floor. He briefly wondered if these boys had replaced him in Antoine's life; if these boys were Antoine's friends, his brothers, the way he himself once was.

He clenched his jaw as he felt his stomach turn.

He descended the stairs walking past more bodies, realizing for the first time how young these boys were.

He himself was one of the younger National Guard officers, but could not let the others know that his stomach was weak.

As he walked through the entrance of the café, the red flag brushed against his shoulder, giving him chills.

He paused once more to look at Antoine… No, at _Enjolras_. He could not allow himself to associate the rebel with Antoine, his former best friend. To him, they seemed to be almost completely different people.

He wondered how two people who had grown up together had ended up in such different situations. He wondered if Madame Enjolras had heard the news yet. He wondered if he might have to be the one to tell her the news. That her son was a traitor. That he was dead.

That it was he who killed him.

When he was finally relieved of duty, he rushed home, shut the door behind him, stripped out of his uniform, and began packing.

He wrote a hasty note to be sent out in the morning. He needed to take a few days off from duty.

He needed to clear his mind and soul of these plaguing thoughts.

He needed to go back to his childhood home.

To his and Antoine's home.


End file.
